


An Unorthodox Proposal

by missbecky



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, References to Past Child Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-16 22:15:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4642080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A routine mission ends up with Eggsy hurt and Harry determined to make sure it never happens again. But when he vows to spend the rest of his life keeping Eggsy safe, Eggsy misinterprets it as an entirely different proposal altogether.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unorthodox Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Kingsman Mini Bang. I had an absolute blast writing this, and working with my incredibly talented and awesome artist. Please check out her art [here](http://littleboopoo.tumblr.com/post/127510860071/my-kingsmanbang-arts-finally-here-drawn-to), and give her all the love she deserves.

"Have I ever told you that you look absolutely smashing in a tux?" Eggsy says in his ear.

Harry resolutely does not look behind him to where he knows Eggsy is standing right now, dressed to the nines and pretending to be engrossed in the artwork on display, just as he is. "Several times, in fact," he murmurs while barely moving his lips. "Need I remind you to stay focused?"

"Oh, I'm focused all right," Eggsy says, and there's no doubt what he's really looking at.

It's dangerous maybe, but that just adds a hint of excitement to things. Hands clasped on the curved grip of his walking stick, Harry leans forward just a little, as though to really study the painting he's standing in front of. The move has the effect of highlighting his rear in his trousers – an effect which is clearly not lost on Eggsy, judging by the sudden intake of breath over the glasses' feed.

"Cheeky," Eggsy mutters.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Harry replies, perfectly innocent.

"Gentlemen." Merlin sounds distinctly unamused. "May I remind you that somewhere in this building there is a bomb for sale to the highest bidder?"

Harry winces, although he has enough self-control to keep it an internal thing, letting nothing show on his face. There was a time – and it wasn't too long ago, either – when such a reminder would not have been necessary. Not for the first time, he wonders over the wisdom of accepting missions that involve pairing up with Eggsy.

The term _conflict of interest_ definitely comes to mind.

"Sorry," Eggsy says, actually sounding somewhat apologetic. Then he says, in more crisp tones, "Or maybe I'm not. Galahad, I think that last little move of yours got his attention."

Harry doesn't look around to confirm. He just waits – and a moment later Merlin says, "He's watching you."

Mindful now of his role, Harry moves away from the painting and heads for a sculpture standing nearby. It's a slow process; he leans on a slim black and silver walking stick, limping slightly. The limp is purely for show, though. The walking stick is the latest product from Kingsman R&D, a Rainmaker packaged as a cane, suitable for situations such as this where an umbrella isn't feasible. A touch of a button in the cane's grip will unfurl the umbrella in all its glory. Before they left London, Merlin had called this mission a field test; Harry had only smiled and said that they would see.

He can feel the eyes on him now, Eggsy standing behind him, Merlin watching carefully through Eggsy's glasses. And circling and coming ever closer, John Simon – the reason they're here tonight.

The art gallery is in Edinburgh, only twenty minutes from Merlin's boyhood home. It isn't large, but it's full of very expensive art. Sculptures mostly, but the occasional painting as well. Everything is for sale, although even just one purchase will set a buyer back dearly. Even _these_ buyers, who are all filthy rich, their wealth on display in their designer evening wear and flashing jewels. When they arrived earlier in the evening, Harry had known a momentary pang of concern, wondering for the first time in many years if he was actually under-dressed for an event.

The worry had only lasted for an instant, though. He knows he looks good, but Eggsy virtually shines tonight, bowtie crisp at his throat, cufflinks glittering under the gallery's lights. Earlier this evening it took all of Harry's considerable willpower not to simply ravish him in the hotel, and he's fairly certain Eggsy felt the same way about him.

He's very much looking forward to returning to their hotel room and helping Eggsy out of that tuxedo.

But that's something for later tonight. Right now he's got to stay focused, as he just admonished Eggsy.

An elderly couple walk past him, the lady's hand resting in the crook of her husband's arm. They don't so much as glance at Harry as they go by. Like most of the people here, they haven't made any purchases yet. Harry watches them while pretending to study the rather ugly sculpture in front of him.

Everything in this room is for sale, but the item Kingsman has sent Harry and Eggsy to obtain isn't on display in the main gallery. Nor is it listed on any program. They don't know what it looks like or what the price is. All they know for sure is that somewhere, most likely in Simon's office upstairs, there is a hollowed-out sculpture with a bomb hidden inside. 

Call it a very special purchase for a very special someone.

"Galahad, he's coming your way now," says Merlin.

Playing his role to the hilt, Harry leans a bit closer to the statue, head slightly cocked, both hands resting on the walking stick.

"Do you like it?" John Simon is short and very blond. His tuxedo fits him exquisitely. He looks like a man who sells art for a living. 

Nothing about him indicates he's also the kind of man who sells bombs.

Harry glances at the statue, then looks back at Simon. "No," he says.

Simon doesn't seem offended. He's wearing too much cologne. He gazes calmly at Harry as he says, "And why not?"

Harry turns away from the sculpture in order to give Simon his full attention. "It's cheap," he says. "Not worthy of the artist's talent."

One of Simon's eyebrows climbs toward his hairline. "Do you think so?"

And in his ear, Merlin whispers, "Careful."

A dart of annoyance threatens to mar Harry's composure. Before they left London, no less than three people reminded him of the importance of maintaining his cover. No one had come right out and said the name Valentine, but they had all clearly been thinking it.

He knows his cover story, knows it very well, in fact. But he's only thirty seconds into his conversation with Simon, and he's pretty sure he won't get to use it. He's only wasting his time now, going through the motions.

Still, he has to try. Not just because innocent lives depend on it, but because if he fails now, Eggsy will be the one to pay for it.

So he throws himself into his role, the arrogant art collector who either doesn't know or doesn't care that he's speaking to the artist's friend and patron. The snobby prick who collects things only because of the name attached to them, who can spout off catchphrases and buzzwords without actually understanding them. 

"I know so," Harry says, letting a note of pretentious snobbery enter his voice. "Or I should hope so. After all, I own several of his works."

"Do you?" Simon says. His head tilts a little, his Scottish brogue a bit more pronounced.

"Oh yes," Harry says. He lets his gaze pan over the gallery. "I particularly enjoy the sweeping lines of his more whimsical works. One can almost hear the longing in them, you see." It's a quote he read from another art exhibition last month in London. No doubt Simon is well aware. "Something like this, though…" He makes a face of genteel distaste and points with his walking stick at the sculpture he's standing beside. "It doesn't speak at all."

Simon nods imperceptibly, his expression remaining inscrutable.

"However, I'm always interested in obtaining new pieces," Harry adds. "Some I like to keep for my private collection. Others I like to give away." He looks at Simon. "As gifts, you see."

Simon considers him for a long moment. "And what would you do with this one here?" he asks, and gestures to the statue.

"A gift," Harry says instantly. "To someone I owe an obligation to. Nothing more."

Simon smiles thinly. "I see. Well, keep looking. Perhaps you'll find something you like enough to buy for yourself."

"Perhaps," Harry replies.

Simon gives him a faint nod, then moves away, the gracious host seeing to all his guests.

Harry turns away a little and states the obvious. "He didn't go for it."

"Well, we knew it was a long shot," Merlin sighs. There is a pause, then he says, "Gawain, you're up."

"Roger that," Eggsy replies right away. He sounds quite happy about it, too, damn him.

Harry continues his measured walk around the edge of the room, limping slightly and using the walking stick. He can't deny that he's eager to see it in action, but he had hoped it wouldn't come to this. He would have preferred to keep Eggsy out of it.

Well, it's too late now. He failed to engage Simon and purchase the sculpture containing the bomb. All he can do now is make sure that the rest of the mission goes smoothly.

He stops in front of another hideous statue and pretends to study it while instead using the thin strip of mirror between two of the wall panels to check out the rest of the gallery. After a little bit of searching, he finds Eggsy standing near a painting, hands clasped behind him, a frown of concentration on his face. He's unbuttoned his jacket, which means he's ready to go.

Everything is just waiting on him now. Harry moves a little further down, and now he's only three feet away from a door set discreetly in the wall. It's paneled the same as the wall itself, and only the proximity of a security guard gives it away.

"I'm in position," he murmurs, and stares at a painting on the opposite wall, squinting a little as though to take in the full effect from a distance.

"Good luck to you both," Merlin says.

"Cheers," Eggsy says.

Harry knows he shouldn't watch, that he should stick to his role, but he can't help it. He has to see.

Eggsy eases a little closer to the painting he's standing in front of and slides one hand beneath his tuxedo jacket. He glances about him, noting the location of the nearest security guard; there's four of them in the main gallery alone, all standing in nearly dark corners so as not to bother the guests. The closest one to Eggsy is a good ten feet away.

It's more than enough. Eggsy pulls his hand out from beneath his jacket and comes up bearing a vial of a red liquid. To the uninformed, it's supposed to be blood; actually it's nothing more than some water, a thickening agent, and some red food coloring. "You people call this art?" he yells, chav accent and all.

Heads turn in surprise; an art gallery is a little bit like a library, in that most conversations are hushed and no one dares to speak too loudly. The security guard standing near Harry – and the door – straightens up, instantly alert.

So do the other guards.

In his element now, Eggsy points at the painting that's offended him and shouts, "This ain't art! _Real_ artists in other countries are out there suffering! _Dying_ for daring to express themselves with their art!"

The guard beside the door abandons his post and starts moving toward Eggsy. The other three do the same, converging on Eggsy's location.

Apparently oblivious to this, Eggsy darts forward with a wild yell and hurls the red liquid onto the painting.

Immediately a strident alarm goes off. People cry out and cover their ears; some of them duck and cower beneath the wall of sound. 

Harry glides forward and opens the door set in the wall. Any alarm that he's just inadvertently set off will hopefully go unnoticed in the general clamor in the main gallery.

The stairs that lead to the first floor are thickly carpeted. He runs lightly up them, holding his walking stick at the ready. Metal detectors at the gallery entrance ensured that no one could bring a gun or a knife inside, but Harry doesn't need those things. Anything can be a weapon if it's used right.

Halfway up the stairs, he hears the sound of rushing footsteps headed in his direction. Another guard, no doubt, sent to find out what the commotion is, while the others continue guarding the statue with the bomb.

Harry stops where he is and puts his most innocent expression on.

The guard comes into view, wearing a tuxedo like all the guests tonight so he blends in and no one is alarmed by the presence of a bunch of armed men. He pulls up short when he sees Harry standing there. He looks angry at first, then relieved, probably thinking he's just discovered the source of the alarm. "You can't be here, sir. This is a restricted area."

"I'm terribly sorry," Harry says, an aged quiver in his voice. "Can you please help me find the toilets?"

The alarm goes mercifully silent as the guard starts down the steps. "This way," he sighs.

Harry raises the walking stick and shoots him right between the eyes.

At such close range, the effect is spectacular. The puck strikes with violent force, whiplashing the man's head back. He's unconscious even before he starts to fall.

Harry darts forward and catches the lifeless body before it can land with a thud and alert everyone else on this floor. Slowly he lowers the guard to the ground. He gazes down at the angry purple indentation in the man's forehead, giving Merlin a good look through the glasses.

"That went rather well," Merlin says, sounding ridiculously cheerful about the fact that Harry probably just put this guy in a coma.

Harry hums in agreement, not daring to make a noise louder than that.

"Better get moving," Merlin says. "Security has just about managed to subdue our rebellious friend. They'll be headed your way soon."

Of course they will. Were this a normal exhibition, the guards would just kick Eggsy out into the street. But not John Simon's guards. They're trained to be suspicious. It's why Harry agreed to try out the walking stick tonight – he'll take any advantage he can get.

But Eggsy has no such tricks to hide behind. The guards will take him into a private office and make sure he's not a genuine threat, that he's just the rebellious hipster he seems to be. Eggsy's job now is quite simple: maintain his cover unless he finds the bomb, in which case his task becomes even more obvious.

Harry's betting he won't find it, though. The guards won't risk it. They'll take Eggsy as far from the bomb's location as they can.

He's going to have to find it himself.

He hurries up the stairs, pauses to make sure no one is coming down the hall, then turns back around. He temporarily props the walking stick up against the wall, then bends over so he can grab the unconscious guard under the armpits. As he starts to drag the man out of sight, Merlin warns, "Ten seconds, Galahad."

Cursing under his breath, Harry gets moving. Thanks to extensive studying of the building's blueprints before they left London, he knows the upstairs hall is lined with doors leading to offices and workrooms. What he sees now matches what he expected. He heads for the nearest workroom, dragging the guard with him. The room is cluttered with half-finished sculptures, folding chairs and tables, and a few cloth-covered easels. He dumps the unconscious guard behind a stack of folding chairs, and then freezes as he hears the unmistakable sound of a group of people climbing the stairs.

Seconds matter now. He runs for the door, reaches around with one hand, snags the walking stick, and pulls it inside a split second before the first head comes into view.

"Cutting it a bit close, weren't you?" Merlin says. The joke does nothing to lessen the tension in Harry's chest, but it does at least let him know that he's safe for the moment.

He crouches behind a storage chest, the walking stick ready. He only has one more stun shot, and he doesn't dare fire real bullets up here, which doesn't give him many long-range options. He can hear them coming closer, and he braces himself for whatever might come. He left the door ajar so he would be able to see into the hall; it's risky, as anything out of the ordinary is more apt to be noticed after the alarms, but he has to take that chance. It's not enough for Merlin to tell him what's happening to Eggsy. He needs to be able to see it himself.

Cautiously he pokes his head up and peers over the rim of the chest he's hiding behind. He can only see a narrow strip of the corridor, but sounds carries clearly. He can hear perfectly well as one of the guards hits Eggsy.

"Keep moving, hero," sneers a voice.

"Not givin' me much choice, are ya, bruv," Eggsy says. He sounds surly, not entirely in character anymore.

Two of the guards go past the door and Harry's view of the corridor. Eggsy walks in between them. Harry only gets a fleeting glimpse but it's enough for him to see that Eggsy's nose is bleeding.

He must make some kind of sound then, a low growl, because Merlin says, "He's fine, Galahad. Focus on the mission."

Yes. The sooner he finds the bomb, the sooner Eggsy can stop playing submissive and they can get the hell out of here.

He creeps out of his hiding spot and slowly moves toward the door. He listens to the guards "escort" Eggsy down the hall, and clenches his jaw when he hears the nauseating sound of a fist hitting flesh.

"They're taking him to the last office on the left," Merlin says.

Harry nods and forces himself to breathe normally. Eggsy will be fine. He knew what he was signing up for when he agreed to this mission. He can handle himself. The guards won't hurt him much, and even if they intend to, there won't be enough time. In another few minutes, Harry will have located the bomb and started the final act of tonight's proceedings.

Eggsy is talking now, his voice in the left earpiece of Harry's glasses. "Go on, then, bruv. You're just provin' my point."

"Oh yeah?" says one of the guards.

"Yeah," Eggsy says. "That oppression is real, and you dickheads wouldn't know real art if you saw it."

"Maybe not," says the guard, "but I bet my fists can leave a lot of pretty colors on your face. You think that's real art?"

"Wanker," Eggsy mutters.

One of the guards hits him.

Harry actually witnesses this last punch, stepping out into the hall just in time to see them drag Eggsy into the last room on the left. The door closes behind them, then the way is clear.

Before leaving the hotel, he and Eggsy had decided that the bomb is most likely located in Simon's office. It's the logical place for him to meet with a prospective buyer, and it's large enough to comfortably fit several members of his security detail. Just how many guards are in there is anyone's guess, but Harry thinks there can't be more than three at the most.

He's already dealt with one of them, so this means there are now only two men guarding the statue containing the bomb. Easy enough to take out – provided he can safely do so without accidentally blowing himself up.

He's halfway down the hall, just a few steps away from Simon's office, when the door at the end of the hall opens, and one of the guards walks out.

The guard shuts the door to the room he just left and starts walking toward Harry. He actually makes it a few steps down the hall before he realizes there's a total stranger standing there and he comes to an abrupt halt. For a moment they just stare at each other, the guard shocked, Harry cursing his bad luck and already raising the walking stick. This wasn't part of the plan; they had all assumed that whoever took Eggsy away would remain with him long enough for Harry to find the bomb on his own. They hadn't counted on this.

The guard starts to turn around and opens his mouth, ready to yell out that someone is wandering around up here. Before he can even make a sound, Harry shoots him.

Even from a distance the puck still does amazing damage. Like the punk in The Black Prince, the guard is lifted right off his feet by the force of the blow. He doesn't quite flip all the way around, but the ugly crunch when he lands is enough to render him unconscious – or possibly dead. That could have been his neck breaking.

Given that the man has Eggsy's blood on his knuckles, Harry can't really bring himself to care if he's dead or alive.

The sound of the impact, though, is enough to alert whoever's waiting in Simon's office. Harry has just enough time to press himself against the wall beside the office, then the door opens and a tall man pokes his head out. "Bill?"

Harry neatly drops the hooked grip of the walking stick around the man's neck and yanks. The blow drives the side of the man's head into the doorframe. His knees buckle and he drops, but doesn't lose consciousness.

It doesn't matter. Already Harry is moving, coming around so he can lift his knee and break the man's nose. He brings the stick down across the top of the man's head – and inside the office, two more guards spring into action, reaching beneath their tuxedo jackets for the weapons they are of course carrying.

Two, not one. Growling out a curse, Harry drops smoothly to one knee and unfurls the Rainmaker in all its glory. It strikes the wounded guard square in the face, and he howls as he falls over backward, both hands clutching at his nose.

The other two start to fire. There's a single instant when Harry thinks quite calmly that if R&D fucked this up, he is a very dead man – then the bullets start impacting the umbrella, and he knows he's safe.

For the time being.

On the floor, the first guard starts crawling backward, trying to get up while clutching at his face with one hand. Numbers two and three advance on Harry, still firing.

And in his ear, a voice demands, "What the fuck is going on? Who's here with you?"

And Eggsy yells, "I don't know what you're on about!"

Still protected by the Rainmaker – although not for much longer – Harry reaches out and down, and grabs hold of One's tuxedo jacket. He hauls forward, literally dragging the man across the polished wood floor toward him.

One yells, Three curses, and Harry grabs One's pistol.

The Rainmaker is starting to fall apart; even the original couldn't withstand this much punishment. Harry drops it at the same time he hauls One upright and uses him as a shield.

The last bullets from Two and Three thud into One's back. Harry fires at Two, finally spots the statue he's come here for, and tosses the dead man at his friends.

In his ear, someone is being struck. A voice shouts in pain – and it's not Eggsy.

Two and Three glance down at their dead companion as the body flops bonelessly toward them. Harry shoots Three in the head, then is forced to freeze as Two grabs the statue and holds it up menacingly. "Drop it!"

The statue looks harmless enough – a child sitting astride a pony. But inside the pony's innocently round belly, there is a bomb. One Harry would prefer not go off any time soon.

"Gawain is en route," Merlin says over the glasses.

Slowly Harry stretches out his arm and leans over. He lets the pistol clatter to the floor.

And from behind him, with impeccable timing, Eggsy says smoothly, "Put it down, bruv."

The remaining guard – not Two anymore, because his friends are dead and he's the only one left – stares at Eggsy. Clear as day on his face is the knowledge that he is fucked.

"I would do as he says," Harry offers.

The guard's determination wavers, then abruptly he lowers the statue and gently sets it back on the table.

"Good man," Eggsy says.

Harry glances over his shoulder. Eggsy looks rather roughed up, his hair falling over his forehead, one eye already swelling shut, blood on his lips. But his grip on his pistol is steady – and when he sees Harry looking at him, he winks.

Mission accomplished.

****

They're checked into the hotel under a third alias, one that can't be connected to the identities they used to obtain invitations to the art exhibition. Merlin informs them that the gallery is now closed, and John Simon has disappeared.

Harry accepts the news without comment. He expected as much. It was never their job to apprehend Simon. Only the bomb mattered.

"Another job well done," Merlin says. "Get some rest and we'll see you tomorrow."

Harry removes his glasses and tucks them into his jacket pocket. Over the next few months, it will be his and Eggsy's duty to observe Simon and keep tabs on his whereabouts and activities. This was their mission, and that makes Simon their responsibility. If he needs to be dealt with again in the future, that too will be their lot to handle. 

But that's looking ahead. For now, there is only this hotel room and the bomb that has been safely dismantled and stashed in the closet. There is the rush of adrenaline and energy that Harry is just now starting to come down from, a high he's pretty sure Eggsy is still riding.

And there is Eggsy, his lip split, his left eye swelling shut and starting to bruise spectacularly.

"I'll be right back," Harry says tersely. He grabs the ice bucket from the bathroom and slips out into the hall.

He follows the posted directions to the ice machine and fills the bucket. His hands are perfectly steady, he notices, which is good. From the way his insides are churning, he wouldn't have been surprised to see them shaking all over the place.

It bewilders him, this feeling of upset. Eggsy is more than capable of taking care of himself. He's proven that time and time again, including tonight. So why then does it bother him so much to see those marks on Eggsy's face, to know that Eggsy is hurt?

When he returns to their room, Eggsy is sitting on the edge of the bed. The sight of him takes Harry's breath away. 

Now that they're safe, Eggsy's taken off his jacket and glasses, and the ends of his bow tie hang loosely about his neck. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone, and one of his braces has been pushed off his shoulder to rest on the bedspread beside him. He's holding his phone, thumbs flying over the screen. Texting Roxy to let her know about the mission, or maybe a friend back home, one of those boys who still thinks Eggsy is just a tailor, that when he disappears for days at a time it's so he can measure a foreign dignitary for a new suit.

As the door swings shut, Eggsy looks up at him and smiles. "About time," he says, and sets his phone aside. "I was thinkin' I was gonna have to go on a rescue mission."

Harry just stands there, full of wrenching, helpless love. There is nothing he wouldn't do for Eggsy, no line he wouldn't cross. For Eggsy he came back from the dead with nothing but an ugly scar to show for it. And if that's the easiest thing he ends up doing in Eggsy's name, he can live with that.

Eggsy's head tilts ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing a little as he tries to work out why Harry is just standing there like a fool. 

It's a good reminder of why he's here and what he wants. Wordlessly Harry takes the ice bucket into the bathroom. He washes his hands – still steady – then brings the bucket and a soft white flannel the hotel provides back into the bedroom.

Eggsy watches all this. He's not smiling anymore.

Harry sets the bucket on the dresser and scoops some ice onto the flannel. He tucks in the edges, creating a makeshift ice pack, and holds it out. "Here."

Eggsy takes the flannel and presses it to his black eye. "You all right?"

"Not a scratch," Harry says. It's an honest answer, even if it's not the one Eggsy is looking for.

For a moment he thinks Eggsy will call him out on it. But Eggsy doesn't say anything. He just shifts his grip on the ice pack and sits still.

Harry returns to the bathroom and runs the second flannel beneath the tap. He wrings out the bulk of the water, then goes back to where Eggsy is, and sits beside him. "Let me."

Eggsy doesn't move as Harry dabs lightly at his upper lip, where blood from his nose has dried. He's as gentle as he can be while still applying enough pressure to get the blood off Eggsy's skin. The last thing he wants to do is add to Eggsy's pain.

"Hey," Eggsy says.

Harry pulls his hand back a little so Eggsy can speak without getting a mouthful of flannel. "What?"

"You're not okay," Eggsy says, and there's a blend of accusation and wonder in his voice.

"I'm perfectly fine," Harry says. "They didn't hurt me."

"Then why are your hands shaking?" Eggsy demands.

Harry looks, and is appalled to realize that Eggsy is right. The hand holding the damp flannel is trembling ever so slightly.

He clenches the cloth in his fist and wills his hands to go still. "I'm fine," he repeats. "There is nothing wrong. Everything went according to plan, and we were successful."

Eggsy drops the ice pack from his eye and gives him a long, hard look.

Unable to help himself, Harry reaches up and touches Eggsy's face. His fingertips brush lightly along the droop of Eggsy's injured eyelid, then follow the arching curve of his eyebrow, and on to his temple, where the bruising is already starting to rise. "My only regret," he says, "is that you were hurt."

Eggsy looks nonplussed. "Is that all?" he says. "Shit, Harry, this is nothing."

It's unfortunately true. The very night Eggsy showed up at the shop and agreed to try for Lancelot's position, he had worse marks on his face, courtesy of his brute of a stepfather. Since then he's been on the receiving end of some punishing hits, coming home from most missions with at least a few new bruises.

But for some reason it's different now, and Harry can't explain it.

"I don't want it to be nothing," he says. He smooths Eggsy's hair back from his forehead, pushing a fallen lock back into place. "I don't want you to be hurt at all."

Eggsy shrugs a little, almost as though he's uncomfortable. "It's gonna happen," he says. "Part of the job and all."

"No," Harry says, because it's not. He's certainly had missions go pear-shaped before, and been the one to receive the punches and kicks instead of doling them out, but he doesn't want that fate for Eggsy. He wants Eggsy to know only success, to never have to sit here again with an ice pack held to a black eye while Harry washes blood off his face.

He never wants Eggsy to suffer. Not ever again.

"No," he says, and he hears himself, the way he's perilously close to slipping into the tones of a lecture – and he doesn't give a shit. "It is _not_ part of the job, and I will not have it." He cradles Eggsy's face, resting his palm along the well-defined line of Eggsy's jaw. "I love you too much for that."

"Oh, Harry," Eggsy sighs with some chagrin. He looks happy, and yet somewhat exasperated, too, like he's half a second away from explaining patiently that he's a grown man capable of taking care of himself.

Harry knows all that. And he doesn't care.

"I love you," he says again. "I would keep you safe for always, however I could. And I would spend the rest of my life protecting you, if you will have me."

Eggsy inhales sharply. He stares at Harry, his green eyes wide with stunned amazement. "Did you just… Did you just propose to me?"

Now it's Harry's turn to be shocked. He spoke from the heart, it's true, but marriage was the last thing on his mind. It's such a prosaic word, a concept he's never thought to apply to himself, having long ago reconciled himself to the fact that it was simply not meant for him.

But now? With Eggsy?

Well, and why not? It's exactly what he wants, packaged in a neat word that encapsulates everything he wants out of life with Eggsy. And it seems to be what Eggsy wants, if the happiness shining in Eggsy's eyes is any indication.

For a single heartbeat, he imagines it. Waking up every morning with the knowledge that Eggsy will be there. Cooking meals together and sharing them across the dining room table. Sitting together on the couch, his feet on Eggsy's lap as they each read from their own tablets. Covering each other as they move silently down a hall toward their target, weapons at the ready. Climbing the stairs at night, his arm about Eggsy's shoulders, his pulse quickening in anticipation for what awaits him in the bedroom.

An entire lifetime stretching ahead of him, full of love and bickering and silent grudges and glowing smiles. And Eggsy, his for keeps. His husband.

They were always going to end up here in this moment, he thinks. It's just a shame he wasn't smart enough to see that ahead of time. He could have – should have – planned better, should have known this was coming. 

He should have done it right.

Still, he doesn't hesitate as he drops to one knee in front of the bed. "Yes," he says in answer to Eggsy's question. "Shall I do it properly this time?"

Eggsy breaks out into delighted laughter. "Fuck," he says, and his eyes are glistening, and he is quite simply the most beautiful man Harry has ever seen. "Oh my God, Harry." He leans down and wraps both arms around Harry's neck. "Yes, you idiot, yes, fuck yes."

Happiness unlike anything he's ever known before rises in Harry's chest. He hugs Eggsy back and he can't believe this is happening. He's done nothing at all in his life to deserve someone like Eggsy.

And yet Eggsy is here. Choosing him time and again. Bringing him back from beyond the veil. Loving him against all reason.

"I love you so much," Eggsy says fiercely. He pulls back a little, his arms still around Harry's neck, and says, "Now kiss me, my fiancé." He grins.

Harry makes a face. "Only if you promise never to call me that again."

Eggsy laughs. "Deal."

The promise secured, Harry reaches up and kisses Eggsy.

It's their first kiss as an engaged couple, the first kiss on the start of their journey through life together. Mindful of Eggsy's split lip, Harry keeps it sweet and light, not wanting to hurt him.

It only lasts for a few seconds. Before he can protest, Eggsy pulls him up and forward so he's standing. Eggsy's lips are hot on his, demanding more, and Harry opens his mouth, giving Eggsy what he wants.

He can deny Eggsy nothing.

Eggsy hums into the kiss and clutches at his shoulders. Bent over somewhat awkwardly, Harry lets himself be pulled down and braces both hands on the bedspread on either side of Eggsy's body. He can taste blood from Eggsy's lip now, bright and copper, and warmth surges through him.

He leans in still further, and Eggsy falls back, obliging, propping himself up on his elbows so he can gaze up at Harry. His eye is starting to swell shut and his lip is bleeding, but he's still absolutely beautiful.

He is also incredibly pushy.

"Come on," Eggsy says. He spreads his legs and arches up a little, lifting his hips and making the bulge in his trousers plainly evident. "What are you waiting for?"

It's not often these days that Harry can be ready so quick, but already his cock is half-hard and wanting. He uses his dominant position to loom over Eggsy, standing between Eggsy's legs where they dangle over the side of the bed. Slowly he lowers himself down to hover just above Eggsy, close enough to feel the heat emanating from him but avoiding any physical contact just yet. "Tell me what you want," he orders.

"You," Eggsy says promptly. "I want you. Your cock inside me. Right now." His eyes burn as he stares up at Harry. "I ain't fucking around. I mean that."

That much is clear. And Harry is in no mood to drag things out, either.

Abruptly he stands up. The loss of Eggsy's warmth immediately hits him with an almost physical pang. "All right," he says, and reaches into an inner pocket of his jacket.

Here, nestled alongside the golden lighter, are two foil packets connected at the top. One contains a condom; the other holds a generous amount of lubricant – Kingsman's contribution to any mission that might include seduction. There are plenty of rumors about John Simon, and although Harry had been almost certain that such measures would not be necessary, he had still come prepared anyway. Just in case.

Now he's glad he did. The condom isn't required, but he's grateful for the lubricant. He tosses the foil packets onto the bed and Eggsy grins, blood welling from the cut in his lip as he does. "Yes, Harry."

They spare only long enough to remove those items of clothing that are in the way: braces, trousers, underwear. Eggsy finishes first, and he grabs the packet of lubricant and rips it open. Harry's just started unbuttoning his shirt when Eggsy's hand closes over his cock, slicking him up.

Fuck it. The shirt can stay. Harry groans and reaches for Eggsy, capturing the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss. He's not sweet about it this time, either. Not even close.

Eggsy's hand pulls and strokes him, just the way he likes. Harry climbs onto the bed, pushing Eggsy back before him. Still kissing Eggsy, feeling his way by touch, he gropes down Eggsy's arm, reaching for the packet and whatever lube remains inside.

Eggsy makes a sound of negation and jerks his hand away before Harry can take the packet from him. He breaks the kiss and breathes heavily against Harry's lips. "Watch," he commands.

So Harry watches as Eggsy squeezes the last of the lubricant onto his fingertips, rolls onto his side, reaches behind him, and pushes two fingers inside himself.

It's an incredible sight. Eggsy's mouth opens, his lips pearled with pink wetness. He twists his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside, and he groans.

He's never been more beautiful just then, his head bowed, cock flushed and straining. Harry can't refrain from reaching down and giving himself a few hard pumps, the way he wants.

Eggsy sees this, and he grins. "Impatient, are we?" He fucks his fingers inside himself, matching his movements to the rhythm of Harry's hand.

"Insolent boy," Harry growls. He could probably come just like this, only his own hand on his cock, watching Eggsy writhing on the bed, utterly untouched. And maybe some other night he'll do exactly that. But right now that's not what either of them wants, so he crawls forward toward Eggsy. "Enough."

"Yeah," Eggsy says, and pulls his fingers out. He rolls onto his back again and lifts one knee toward his chest. "Need you now," he says.

Harry goes to him at once. Eggsy is all slick heat and grasping hands, his entire body opening up to Harry. He is flush with sweat and lust and so beautiful, his voice raw as he urges Harry to greater strength. He tosses his head when Harry tries to kiss him, and blood smears down Harry's cheek, and the thought of it, of being marked like that with Eggsy's blood, is enough to push him over the edge.

 _Mine,_ he thinks, shuddering against Eggsy. _Mine._

****

"Anyone ever tell you you get great sex hair?" Eggsy grins and reaches out to brush the hair off his forehead.

Lying on his right side, facing him, Harry smiles in fond exasperation. "No, I can't say that they have."

"Well, trust me," Eggsy says. "You do." He's on his left side; the position makes the bruising around his eye less visible.

Harry does not bother to dignify that with a response.

Normally after sex they don't talk much. There have been no heartfelt confessionals, no weighty discussions of the future. But tonight everything feels different. Tonight has changed everything about their relationship.

And there are certain things that must be said. Certain truths that must be faced, no matter how painful they might be. 

So Harry tries his best. "Eggsy." He hesitates. "Are you very sure?" he asks. It all happened so suddenly, but this is the rest of their lives they're talking about. "I'm so much—"

Eggsy cuts him off. "If you're about to say what I think you're about to say, you can just stop right there," he says. He gives Harry a firm glare, his lips thinned into a mutinous line. "I don't give a fuck how old you are," he says. "You could be eighty and I'd still love you, still want to marry you."

Touched by this, but still uncertain, Harry starts to protest, but Eggsy won't let him even get a single word in.

" 'Sides, you ain't so old. 'S not like you got any trouble gettin' it up." He smirks, then grows more serious. "And even if you did, I wouldn't care. I ain't marrying you for your cock. Although…" He reaches between them and encircles Harry's cock and gives it a warm stroke. "Although it's a _very_ nice cock."

"Well, thank you," Harry says dryly. "I do try." Then he grows serious again. "I only want you to be sure," he says. "To know what you're getting into. I'm not—"

"Stop it," Eggsy snaps. His right shoulder twitches forward, like he's about to roll toward Harry and pounce on him. "I fucking _hate_ it when you do that."

Harry blinks, taken aback by the vehemence in Eggsy's voice. "Do what?"

"Run yourself down," Eggsy says. "Act like you ain't good enough for me, when really--" his voice and eyes both soften, "—really it oughta be the other way around."

Harry leans toward him and kisses him sweetly, mindful of the fact that it hurts Eggsy now. "No," he says. "Never that, my dearest. Never that."

"I love you so much," Eggsy says, and he reaches out to smooth his fingertips over the scar on Harry's forehead. It's something he only does when he's stressed or upset, half the time not even seeming to realize that he's doing it.

"And I love you," Harry replies.

Eggsy strokes his fingers over Harry's temple and down his cheek. "And now we're getting married." His eyes light up again; the crisis is past, whatever it was. "Holy shit, Harry, we're gettin' married!" An excited grin spreads across his face. "Wait 'til I tell my mum. She's gonna go mental."

And rightfully so, Harry thinks, but he doesn't say that.

"It's gonna be right strange calling you my husband," Eggsy says.

"Not strange enough to change your mind, I hope," Harry says.

"Please," Eggsy scoffs. "Ain't nothing gonna change my mind."

"Well, I am glad to hear that," Harry says. He speaks seriously, but it's very difficult not to smile.

"Get over here," Eggsy says. He flops onto his back and extends his left arm.

They fit together so well, even like this, when the height difference between them means his feet are almost dangling off the bed. Harry lays his head on Eggsy's shoulder and settles his left hand on Eggsy's chest.

Eggsy's left arm encircles him. "You don't gotta worry about me," he says quietly. "I'll be okay."

"I know you will," Harry says. He's never doubted Eggsy's competence or abilities. He only wishes he could always be there to watch out for him, to keep him safe from harm.

A wedding ring won't change that, won't make it any easier for him to protect Eggsy. And yet he wants it, anyway. He spreads his fingers, lifting them slightly from the bare skin of Eggsy's chest. He looks at his ring finger and imagines a gold band there.

"We should get some sleep," he says. "We have a busy day tomorrow."

"We do?" Eggsy says.

"Yes," Harry says. "Or did you think our wedding would just plan itself?"

Eggsy's chest hitches as he huffs out a laugh. "I'm gonna tell Merlin that when he asks why my mission report is late."

"Make sure I'm there when you do," Harry says. "I want to be sure I see the look on his face."

Eggsy laughs again, happy and delighted. 

Harry closes his eyes in contentment. He should maybe plan a proper proposal for when they get back home, some appropriately romantic gesture to accompany the question. But he doesn't think he will. Tonight was spontaneous and unexpected, like most of the important days of their relationship. From the day they first met, when Eggsy made that phone call and he made the decision to sponsor Eggsy, they haven't played by the rules. Why should they start now?

No, Harry decides. The proposal stands as it is. It's everything they are together: impulsive, heartfelt, memorable.

It's perfect.


End file.
